Masquerade
by Kazie Solo
Summary: A collection of Takeshi x Lilika short stories. Written for the 30angsts challenge at LiveJournal.
1. On Yuhya's Grave

**On Yuhya's Grave**

_Set right after the last episode. Takeshi pays his deceased mentor a visit, and he makes a painful, life-changing decision._

On Yuhya Marino's grave, Takeshi laid _Gaiki _to rest.

Its work was done, and so was his. He had fulfilled his promise to train his mentor's brother, Kouya, and help him become the Crush Gear World Champion. And he had done so most effectively, tiring and frustrating though it was, having chosen a tricky path to attain such a success.

He smiled, satisfied with himself. Yes, in the course of his adventure as a Gear Fighter, he had learned to let go of the things that were plaguing his life and existence, so that he may move on a better man. He had learned to accept Yuhya's untimely death and the fact that the person who had been his greatest friend and mentor was gone, remaining with him only memory. He had even learned to let go of his memory of him, to release himself from its restrictive bonds, and step out from the shadows of his champion.

But there were two things he just couldn't lay to rest, things that had been plaguing him for the last four years.

One was his tears.

The other was his love for Lilika Tobita.

He loved her, yes. But Yuhya Marino did, too – and she loved _him._ They were almost inseparable, the perfect couple; she was the daughter of their club owner, and he was their captain, their champion fighter. Even before it had actually come to pass it was a relationship most obvious, one that existed simply because it was meant to. Only that it was short-lived.

Takeshi mentally cursed himself. His love for her was wrong. She was rightfully Yuhya's, and death wasn't supposed to change that. Still, he found himself wanting her, needing her, loving her.

His mind had been telling him to let go of that unrequited love, telling him that it would only lead to his ruin. And he had tried. After Yuhya's death he had built a wall between himself and her, letting the last fragments of his adolescence die with his mentor, and with that hasty flight into adulthood he hoped his 'infatuation' for Lilika would disappear just as fast.

But it never worked. His heart had always been in the way.

"Yuhya," he called out softly, opening his eyes and reaching out to run his fingers through the inscription on his friend's grave. His eyes glistened with tears that he was finally able to let go of, allowing them to spill from his chestnut orbs and trickle down his handsome face. "I love her, Yuhya. I really do."

And as pain seized his heart, he vowed, "But I'll be the last person to take her away from you."


	2. Stupid Inspirational Book

**Stupid Inspirational Book**

_Takeshi's sudden departure rips Lilika's heart apart; what's worse, he doesn't say goodbye, but only leaves a book in remembrance. What she doesn't know, however, is that there's more to the book than what meets the eye._

Lilika stared in disbelief. A _book_ was all he left her?

To make matters worse, it wasn't even a pocketbook. It was one of those colorful but lousy and almost childish books that she never really learned to appreciate. But that wasn't the reason why she was bitter; she was bitter because the young man didn't say anything to explain his sudden farewell. She expected a letter, or even just a note, but all he had for her was a 'stupid inspirational book' that didn't serve its purpose.

She put the book aside and buried her face in her hands, sobs escaping her once more. He was such an idiot. They had been together for almost three years, but still he continued to keep secrets from her – secrets that had distraught her, hurt her, pained her.

She understood that it must've been painful for him, too. His parents, never been in favor of their relationship, had coerced him to leave just like that, without saying goodbye. Kurosaki, their driver and his loyal bodyguard, had attempted to intervene but it wasn't much; the most he was able to do was ask his young master for his last message for his beloved, and in turn, deliver the book he had been requested to give to her.

_If he wanted to say goodbye, he would've found a way_, she thought. But he had faltered all throughout their time together in the communication part. Couples were supposed to share, not only their accomplishments and joys, but also their problems and sorrows. But that was the part he did so poorly at, and not even three years' worth of exposure to her warmth and supportiveness changed that.

She allowed herself to sink back into her bed, to swim amidst the softness of her pillows and sheets, to drown in the memories of her and Takeshi, hoping and praying that pain would no longer plague her at her wake.

-**x**-

As Kaoru entered the room, grinning and even looking somewhat dreamy, Kouya raised an eyebrow quizzically. She had just been to Lilika's place to offer emotional support and encouragement, and yet she returned acting as if nothing depressing had happened. Perhaps she was happy that Takeshi had finally left, as they had never been in best terms, but the expression on her face didn't quite reflect that.

"What is wrong with you!" he finally exclaimed, exasperated. "Is Lilika okay or not?"

She stopped short and glared at him for interrupting her glee. "Geez, Kouya. Yeah, she's okay. Still a bit shaken, but she'll hold up just fine." She then held up a book for him to see. "I found this at her place and the moment I saw it, I knew I just had to borrow it. And oh my God, Kouya, whoever owned this before it came to her possession was such a romantic!" she chirped.

Kouya rolled his eyes, but in fear of being yelled at _and_ smacked, he motioned that she sit down beside him on the couch and show him what she was talking about. And as she excitedly did so, flipping through the pages of the second-hand book with much speed, he found himself smiling. Kaoru may be annoying half the time, but she, too, was bubbly, sweet and charming the other half of the time.

"Here," she announced, shoving the book to his face. She had opened it to the second to the last page, where there was a poem of thanksgiving for a good friend on the left side, a two-stanza poem about love on the other, and a doodle of a boy and a girl holding hands with a very pink heart in between them. She then pointed to something that was scribbled under the picture. "Read what it says."

Immediately, Kouya knew that what had been written wasn't part of the book, for as he took a closer look at the page he noticed how sloppy the handwriting was. And he, too, instantly knew why his girlfriend was all chipper and giddy.

It read:

**Wait for me. I'll come back for you.**


	3. Breakdown

**Breakdown**

_What harm can a cellphone do? Lilika discovers that when your boyfriend is an insufferably insensitive brat, a cellphone might be the cause your greatest sorrow – along with him._

Ten minutes.

She stared at her cellphone indignantly, feeling the urge to pick it up and remind him that she was still up, fighting the drowsiness that was threatening to take over her system and put her to sleep, and waiting for his reply. But she decided to put that thought aside, sighing instead.

Men. Such insensitive brats.

And it happened every time. Too busy to talk to each other during the day, their conversations took refuge in the darkness of night – past the reasonable hours, even. It was a bit of trouble for her, and very much an extra effort, but since he wished it so, she compelled with the silent rules. Even when she had to get up early the next day for her classes at the university, even when she had an exam for the first period.

Much to her annoyance and ire, however, he would fall asleep halfway through their talk almost every day. What upset her wasn't really the fact that he kept sleeping on her; rather, it was that she'd be up waiting for him to reply, only to realize thirty minutes or an hour later that he had fallen asleep _again_ and wasn't going to text back until the morning. And when he would, he'd greet her a good morning, ask if she dreamed about him, laugh about how lying down drove him to sleep, and not at all continue the conversation he had left unfinished.

_Beep._

One message received.

_About time,_ she thought, almost exasperatedly. She rolled over to her side to take her phone, fumbling through the keypad to read his message. And, immediately, frowned.

_**Wt u doin? M surfn d net.**_

Her patience evaporated into thin air. He was being the insufferably insensitive brat again, and it was getting on her nerves. She had waited because she expected a sensible conversation, but it seemed that he was too busy somewhere else. She threw a glance at her alarm clock, her frown deepening. It was past midnight.

She had waited enough.

Fingers flying from one key to another, she typed, **_Luks lyk ur bc. Ok, I wnt bothr u. Tc._**

His reply came shortly after, and she felt her temper rise.

_**Ok, f dats wt u wnt.**_

Still, she was the girl that she was, and even in the middle of her temper tantrum, she was still the warm, sweet girl who was loved by everyone at the Tobita Club, the girl who could never really hate or get mad at a person, regardless of what she was feeling. Remembering that he had gone out that night and was, she concluded, doing his surfing at some 'Net café, she bid him good night and told him to take care on his way back home.

And his reply was only the two-lettered _ok_. He didn't even bother to put a period.

She burst into tears. Why was he being so mean to her? Why was he being so insensitive? All she wanted was to talk to him. Yet he didn't seem to be in the mood to. Well, she could take that, she really could, but why couldn't he just tell her directly that he didn't want to talk, instead of pushing her aside and making her feel miserable?

It was then and there when it dawned on her that he didn't need her, that she really didn't mean that much to him. After all, he had the money and the means to throw around, to get himself anything that he could possibly want, while she was just a girl he could very easily replace. He had been fine without her, he had been happy without her, and she had seen that he could live and be happy without her.

What, then, was the point of staying?

_Ring._

One missed call.

A text followed.

_**M on my way hme. U stl up? Wt u doin?**_

She told him she was crying. He said that he was sorry, but she noticed that, again, he didn't even put a period, and he did that every time he was mad, or upset, or simply not in the mood. She told him that he didn't need to say sorry, because he didn't do anything wrong and everything was her fault, not his. That she was a stupid helpless girl. That she was a failure, a screw-up. That he'd be better off without her.

He argued that it wasn't so, that she shouldn't think of herself that way. But she couldn't help it; her realization had struck her deep, and it wounded her. She probably would've been able to take the pain far better if he had told her in the face that he didn't need her, but to have to _feel _it from his words, from his actions – the blow was twice as much.

And it was bound to get worse.

He said, **_Y r u teling me dis? Ur tired of me, arnt u? Go ahed, jst say it. _**And shortly after, before she could even materialize a reply in her head, another text came, asking her why she was doing this to him.

She couldn't take it anymore. She felt like she was going to explode. She had to talk to him, to _speak_ to him, for lifeless text messages could not carry her point across, could not ascertain how he was feeling or if he meant what he had been saying, nor could they settle the problem that had brewed so quickly between the couple. Hastily, not caring how late it already was, she dialed his number, and the moment he answered the call, fresh tears streaming out of her eyes and down her face, she wailed, "Doing _what_! What did I _do_!"

"_You're crying again."_

It took her a moment before she could speak again. She knew that he hated it when she'd cry. "How can you," she began, stifling her sobs, "how can you say that I'm tired of you? Is that how you see me? Is that it?"

"_Hush now. Stop crying. You're just sleepy. Go to bed now, get some rest. Please."_

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Okay, fine! I stay up this late to talk to you, and you just tell me to go to bed because I'm sleepy! That's it, isn't it? When you're having fun, you just forget about me!"

Now _that_ stung him.

"_I see. Very well."_

He ended the call.

-**x**-

She put away her cellphone, turned off her lampshade and went to bed, hoping that the pain would go away; and that when the morning would come, he'd greet her a good morning, ask if she dreamed about him, laugh about how lying down drove him to sleep, and not at all continue the conversation he had left unfinished. She pulled the cozy sheets over her, holding her pillow close, and cried.

And outside, a lonely figure gazed upon her bedroom window, tears glistening within his eyes.


	4. Cry

**Cry**

_She had sheltered herself in his memory for the past five years. Now, she was truly alone._

Lilika stared as the kids wrecked havoc in the classroom.

She had already expected them to be a notorious bunch, as she had already been warned, but she had no idea they'd be more than she could handle. She hated to admit it, but the children were driving her crazy, testing her patience in almost every single imaginable way. And it was only her first day.

They started the day with a prayer, but they weren't even halfway through it when one of the kids, a big-eyed brunette named Fuuko, started crying. Her seatmate, a little boy with sleek black hair that seemed to have been submerged in a tub of gel and whose name she couldn't recall, had been pulling her hair for no reason at all. When Fuuko's friend – a pretty girl whose name she couldn't recall, either – had hit the boy in the head for such an act, the boy burst into tears and started a chain reaction that ended with the entire class crying.

And that was only the beginning.

When they had all calmed down, Lilika decided to leave the prayer unfinished and move on to an action song, in hopes to cheer the kids up. It _almost_ went well until another one of her students cried and complained because he couldn't tell which hand was right or left. She then told the class to get their crayons and papers and have fun with them, while she'd coach the poor child.

But she had only finished teaching the boy when another fight erupted between the twins Mina and Rina. Rina had earlier asked permission to borrow a blue crayon from the class box, and Mina followed; Mina, however, apparently wanted the _very same_ crayon and wouldn't settle for any other, regardless if it was blue, while Rina refused to give up what she had taken. The twins ended up shouting at each other, and, well, crying.

And then the rest of the class decided to color the floor and even the walls.

_I'm going to get fired_, Lilika thought as she slapped her forehead.

She had to resist the urge to cry. 

-**x**-

She looked at her watch and frowned. Class had already been dismissed half an hour before, yet one of her students still hadn't been picked up. Knowing that the child must've already gotten bored, she took one of the coloring books she kept inside her drawer as well as their class crayon box, and offered them to the boy, who took them eagerly and began coloring almost immediately.

There was something familiar about him, that she immediately noticed as she took a closer look. It was something about his smile, or the way his beautiful brown orbs twinkled as he thanked her.

_Takeru_, she read from the boy's ID. She smiled. _I'll check the class record._

She took a moment to ruffle Takeru's hair before she proceeded back to her desk, noticing that he was too caught up with his coloring and apparently didn't want to be bothered. She had only sat down when there was a knock on the classroom door; immediately, she got to her feet to meet her guest, having the gut feeling that it would be the boy's parents.

And she was right. As soon as she opened the door a woman stepped in, apologizing for picking up her son so late. She seemed a little too young to have a child, a toddler though Takeru was, and she was wearing only a sweatshirt and a pair of jogging pants. But Lilika only smiled and gestured towards the boy, telling his mother that everything was fine, that having him stay beyond class hours hadn't been a burden, and that he had behaved well.

"Oh, thank goodness. Not that Takeru's a problem child, but we've had him homeschooled the past two years and I was a bit skeptical if he'd be able to stand being around so many people. He's introverted and a little silent, but he takes it after his dad, I guess. Thank you so much for taking care of him, Miss…"

"Tobita," she supplied. "Lilika Tobita."

Their hands had almost touched for a handshake when the woman pulled back hers.

"Oh."

_"Oh?"_

"I'm sorry," the other woman suddenly apologized, her face flushing bright red. She quickly turned to her little boy and motioned him to come over. "Takeru, dear, we have to go now."

As the woman hurriedly left the room, Takeru in tow, Lilika looked on in confusion, unable to comprehend what had just happened. She wondered if she had done or said something to make Takeru's mother react the way she did, but she remembered that she had received that reaction only after giving the woman her name. Before that, they had been getting along just fine, and were in fact engaged in a lively conversation.

Not really knowing what she was doing it for, she decided to go after the woman.

And afterwards found herself wishing that she hadn't.

She caught up with her, all right. She was getting in a limousine when she had arrived, panting, apparently having decided to make a run for it. But that wasn't what caught her off-guard – it was the handsome man who stood by the vehicle, who seemed just as surprised to see her.

Takeshi, who recovered first, walked up to her and shook her hand. "Hello."

"Hi," she found herself saying instantaneously, though she still did not know what was going on or what she was even doing. When she was finally aware of it and had wanted to pull back and break the connection, it was already too late; he already had his iron grip on her.

"I hope you're doing well," he said. It was rather awkward.

She nodded. "You too."

Then, he smiled, but it was no longer the familiar smile that had captivated her heart. And his brown eyes no longer had the familiar twinkle that caused butterflies to fly in her stomach. What had happened? Had it really been that long? But it had only been five years; five years wasn't _that_ long a time, was it?

And then he answered her.

Not directly, but he answered her, silencing all her qualms and that of her heart's.

**_"So, you've met my wife."_**

She had to resist the urge to cry. 

-**x**-

And raindrops started to fall.

She couldn't understand. No, she _didn't want_ to understand. Why did he keep her waiting, all those years, for _nothing_? He could've just walked up to her, told her in the face that he didn't love her, that he _couldn't_ love her, and that would've been it. Game over. Fin. Owari. End of story.

She wouldn't have to hurt like this.

Then, she laughed; a humorless, bitter laugh.

Who was she kidding?

The truth was, he didn't keep her waiting. She voluntary did that herself. He had ended their relationship five years ago, yet she desperately held on to its memory, hoping and praying that someday the hearts that had been shattered would be put back together again. After their breakup he made no attempt to communicate with her, disappearing completely from her world. It was only today that she ever saw him again.

He didn't bother to explain to her what had happened to him all those years. After all, he had no obligation to. He simply made it known to her that Takeru was his son and that woman was his wife; then, he said "So long," and let go of her hand, leaving her standing all alone.

She had sheltered herself in his memory for the past five years.

Now, she was truly alone.

And this time, she couldn't resist the urge to cry.


	5. Winter

**Winter  
**_Sequel to **Cry**. _

To have her arms around him was pleasant. The way she clung to him as if he'd fade away if she'd let go, the way she caressed his soul with her mere presence, the way she silenced him with the touch of her soft, sweet lips – all of it was pleasant.

Yet pleasant seemed such an empty word.

And the only word he could use to describe their relationship after five years of marriage.

He felt her move and he let her, allowing the balance to slip from his hands into hers. He didn't mind; he really wasn't in the mood in the first place. Though he kept his hands on her as he drowned in her kiss and savored her touch, giving back the little pleasures he found himself able to, _he just wasn't there_.

She stopped, sensing his lack of enthusiasm, and as she retreated, coldness washed over him. It wasn't the same coldness he had experienced every night for the past five years. It wasn't because of sorrow, or loneliness, or regret. It was something else altogether. It was like the red-hot lava of a woman's fury frozen into an iceberg, and it had begun to melt, soaking his entire body, chilling him to the bone.

And he knew why.

She pried his hands off her, muttering something about him being an idiot and how he had once again ruined the moment. Then, she looked at him – really looked at him.

Her voice was but a whisper, but her frosty tone told him the situation was very, _very_ bad. "It's her, isn't it?"

He did not reply. He merely allowed his legs to buckle and he sat down at the foot of their bed, whatever interest he had in their little game suddenly lost. How could he answer her? How did she expect him to answer her? He couldn't possibly tell her that their five years of marriage meant nothing because his heart had been with his ex-girlfriend all along. He couldn't possibly tell her that if it wouldn't be a crime to break a sacred oath, he'd put a stop to their relationship and go back to the waiting arms of his old flame. And he couldn't possibly tell her that he never really loved her, that Takeru was but an accident he deeply regretted.

He felt her lift his face by the chin with one slender finger, and then, when he had found her face with his eyes, a powerful force struck him hard on the cheek. He recoiled and quickly got to his feet, seizing her arm. "How dare you–"

"How dare _you_!" she spat back, the red-hot lava of fury flowing from her eyes. She forcefully wrenched her arm away from his grasp, but she did not move from where she stood, nor did she turn her fierce gaze away from his face. She wanted to scream. She wanted to hate him. But she couldn't. She just couldn't.

Instead, she turned around and walked away.

"Yoko, please." He was quick to catch up with her – or had she intentionally slowed down? – and take hold of her hand. It felt warm in his, and the feeling of security and comfort returned as he desperately held on to it. He couldn't lose her. He needed her, and he needed her badly. "I'm sorry."

This time, she didn't resist. Slowly, she turned back around to look into his eyes, even though she knew what she'd find there. And it wasn't love. That was the part of him that she'd never share, or even hope to know. "If you love her, why don't you go back to her?" she asked, and her voice trembled.

"I… I _can't_."

It stung. No, it _hurt_. She felt like her chest had been cut open by a sword, her heart ripped and fed to the dogs. She meant nothing to him, that she knew for certain – nothing but the fire on his winter night.

A night like this one, and every night thereafter.

But she had no tears to shed.

Not even for the unrequited love she had for him.


End file.
